


Floaters

by iosis



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Kagune Sex, M/M, Prompt Fic, possible ooc, tsukikane - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iosis/pseuds/iosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>make me feel like i am breathing, feel like i am human</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floaters

**Author's Note:**

> in response to an anon request - kagune sex, control/trust.

 

 

He’s known that the boy has gotten stronger. He always has been, a magnificent specimen in his own way, Tsukiyama doesn’t settle for any less. He had to admit he’d almost felt honoured when Kaneki asks him to help him train – eyes averted, knuckles rubbing at the curve of his chin, deceptively sweet in his uncertainty.

What he hasn’t anticipated is how _much_ was _stronger_. The sheer power that came from the small form, a flurry of movement the sequence of which Tsukiyama didn’t realise was occurring until his shoulderblades are digging into concrete, and Kaneki towers above him, four deadly blades swaying on the edges of his vision.  

 

This is how the first couple of training sessions went – Tsukiyama doing his best to put up a semblance of a fight before a devastating blow of a scaly tendril sent him flying. Kaneki fights with fervour – fights well, but Tsukiyama isn’t bothered too much. Where Kaneki’s concerned, he’s long learnt to watch, to gain something back from every mistake he’s made.

 

The routine is disturbed on the fourth day, where he’s no longer satisfied with remaining on the defensive. It’s hardly a superhuman effort – more pressure here and there, a forceful contact with Kaneki’s rinkaku between attacks, and the boy is sent flying, crimson appendages retreating, sprawling to soften his fall.

‘You were going easy on me all this time.’ Kaneki accuses. He kicks at the ground, sending a piece of debris flying. He doesn’t look angry – just slightly disappointed.

‘Nonsense, _mon cher_.’ Tsukiyama extends a hand to brush the dirt off the boy’s shoulder.

Kaneki scowls at the gesture, but doesn’t shake him off.

‘Then, how..?’

‘I’ve been an attentive spectator, that’s all. Observing.’

Kaneki looks at him, sullen, but waits for him to continue.

‘Your strength, my dear, it’s magnificent! I’ve never seen someone with such ferocity. _Merveilleux!_ ’

‘That doesn’t seem quite right coming from someone who was wiping the floor with me a minute ago.’

 

Tsukiyama opts not to mention how much it took out of him to crown himself the little victory just then, how Kaneki has him treading on the edge, every distortion of the space between them a threat.

‘Non-non. It took me four days to come out on top, did it not? Practice makes perfect, as they say. What you’re lacking is control – finesse.’ he continues, leaning against the wall.

‘Nothing that should affect you too much in combat – when you fight with an intent, a reason, none of that would matter. If your opponent has a chance to see you fight a number of times before they face you, however...’

‘That’s why you were watching?’

 _‘Preciement, mon amour._ Like I said, this is unlikely to affect you in combat, but where’s the fun in training if you never challenge yourself?’

‘Right.’ Kaneki looked a little hesitant there. ‘And what do you suggest I do to improve that?’

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ Tsukiyama shrugs nonchalantly, and his smile is all teeth.

 

 

They train, every day. Tsukiyama remembers the black-haired boy shaking before him on the Restaurant’s arena, the fragility of his form, thin wrists and milky skin and eyes wide open. The boy that now held so much power could kill him with ease if he truly wanted, if he gave him any more reason to.

He doesn’t feel scared though, struggling to anticipate and predict Kaneki’s attacks. If anything, there’s something exhilarating about fighting alongside each other, empowering even, watching Kaneki slowly grain precision and speed to go along with the ridiculous strength he possesses. Avoiding the blows is no longer possible as their sessions progress – Tsukiyama cannot remember the last time someone made him this aware of the disadvantages that came with his koukaku. Cannot remember the last time someone struck something within him to the degree that Kaneki’s existence has.

It happens on the tenths day of their ‘training’ – though it’s unclear who is it supporting the improvement of the other and this point. Tsukiyama’s not sure exactly what happens, but one moment he wills his kagune to form an impenetrable shield that for once manages to deflect the attack, and the other Kaneki’s ricocheting off the wall and flying at him, the four blades of his rinkaku gathered behind his back, poised as if to kill.

They end up with Tsukiyama prostrated on the floor yet again, his drill-wielding arm stuck out in a poor attempt to shield himself. Kaneki hovers over his legs, palms and knees planted on either side of him, kagune holding him into the wall.

It takes Tsukiyama a while to register that Kaneki’s kagune is entangled in the spiral of his. His first thought is that the vibrant red looks really nice against the soft underside, that the malleability of a rinkaku complements the natural curve of that part of him so very well. He becomes aware of the feeling later – completely alien, like a tingle a lingering caress would leave behind, but more tangible, hard and heavy against his ‘weapon’.

There is no damage taken by his koukaku, just the weight of a foreign organ nestled along an inner curve, and it’s confusing how something so deadly can just _rest_ there.  One of the other appendages is draped along one of the outer curves, dangerously close to Tsukiyama’s shoulder, the very tip just pressing into the underside. There’s something oddly intimate about the way Kaneki remains settled within his defensive curve, the other two blades draped behind him as if in hesitation of what to do. 

When he finally tears his eyes away from the place where they’re practically entwined, all he can see is Kaneki, staring at him with a helplessness and confusion Tsukiyama had forgotten suited him so well. This was the face of the Kaneki when he first knew him, the face of a human that enticed him so much.

Kaneki swallows, painfully audible in the suspended silence. He moves – a flick of a narrow edge across flesh that’s not really been touched much before, not in this casual a manner. Tsukiyama closes his eyes on impulse, trying to assign a taste to the particular sensation.

Abruptly, the touch recedes - Kaneki moves back, scrambling to his feet, and at that moment he reminds Tsukiyama of a withering flower folding in on itself. His eyes are downcast; his kagune drags along the ground behind him. What happened to an avalanche of power and determination he was just before?

‘I.’ His voice echoes off damaged basement walls, in the silence so still Tsukiyama can hear the sound of traffic in the distance. ‘I got carried away. I’m sorry.’

‘No need to apologise, _mon cher_.’ Tsukiyama’s back on his feet, dusting himself off, the spiral of RC cells retreating. ‘On the contrary, that was a splendid counteratta…’

Kaneki waves him off. There’s something detached in the way he turns slowly on his heels, in the way he strolls past Tsukiyama, rinkaku trailing behind him limp and lifeless – as if he’s not really there at all.

 

The sparring session ends at that. The unnameable flavour of the touch of another’s innermost weapon on Tsukiyama’s flesh lingers.

 

 

‘At this rate, I don’t think I have anything else left to teach you.’ Tsukiyama tells him the next morning. As much as it honoured him to be the one to ‘train’ Kaneki in a way, facing his defeat over and over got a bit monotonous after a while. The half-ghoul clearly didn’t seem to agree, insisting they continue. So Tsukiyama opts for spectating some more – after all, there’s a phenomenon that piques his interest.

 

Tsukiyama ponders about what’s going on sometimes, in the security of his own mansion, in safety from the constant awareness of Kaneki’s presence. Kaneki still fights with overwhelming intent, but there’s been a shift in his style lately, a leeway for redundancy. All four strands of kagune encasing Tsukiyama at once where a sweep of one would have sufficed, a strand of rinkaku wrapping around his wielding arm when it possessed to threat whatsoever. The way the tendrils just _linger_ on him sometimes before slithering down his body as Kaneki turns around and walks off, oft not even bothering to declare he’s had enough for today.

Tsukiyama is intrigued by the subtle changes in his scent, the look he got just before he turns his back on him – something akin to morbid fascination, an inner turmoil Tsukiyama just can’t place his mind on. There’s _a_ thought, a theory, but no, that’s too absurd. Too bizarre for him to even consider putting it to a test, so he lets it slide for now. We’ll see, he tells himself, we’ll see, if Kaneki ever chose to confront him on that.

 

 

He isn’t prepared for it at all when it happens. He’s at all at peace nestled into the corner of the couch, immersed in a book Hinami gave him before disappearing in the doorway, pulling Banjou along. Kaneki’s voice calls him to attention, and he looks up, wondering if there’s been a disorder in one of the adjacent wards, or if he desired solitude while everyone is gone.

He’s met with the deep crimson of Kaneki’s kakugan, the intensity of his stare as he approaches.

 

He’s not wearing his battle gear – the thin shirt rips easily as his kagune unfolds behind him, swaying with each hesitant step. Here’s that look again – turmoil and hesitation and something else.

‘Why, what’s this all of sudden, _cheri_? We’ve already sparred today,’ Tsukiyama forces a smile, leaning forwards on his elbows, book cast aside. Something in his stomach tightens, concern mingling with anticipation. He, too, is hesitant, not sure what caused this, not sure how to react. How _Kaneki_ wanted him to react.

 

‘Tsukiyama-san.’ The half-ghoul inches closer. Tsukiyama regards the swaying appendages behind his back, and for a moment there’s a flicker of worry, a thrill of danger, but he can tell Kaneki means him no harm. His eyes are fixed on the Gourmet’s, searching, desperate, and Tsukiyama thinks he could probably guess the reason, though he doesn’t dare to. Instead, he lets Kaneki close the distance separating them enough for the space between his knees and the boy’s legs to be physically tangible.

The apprehension of the touch leaves shivers travelling up his body, leaves his mouth dry and his thoughts hazy. Suddenly Kaneki feels so very small. For some reason Tsukiyama imagines a black haired boy with his kagune activated for the first time, how foreign and out of control it must’ve felt.

 

‘Uh, I –’

Kaneki frowns as if at a loss for words, the RC appendages hitting the floor impatiently.

 

‘ _C’est d’accord_.’ Tsukiyama says, though he’s still not sure what the other’s intentions are. The acceptance that everything is probably alright as long as this is Kaneki puzzles him for a second, but the puzzlement gives way to curiosity. The novelty of this particular flavour of Kaneki is unfamiliar, he thinks, so his excitement is justified. The way unrelenting heat twists in his stomach just at the mere suggestion of a touch, toes curling against the hard leather of his shoes in anticipation is justified.  

‘What is it, _mon amour_?’ he tries again. The only response he gets is a tendril of Kaneki’s rinkaku winding to rest in the air, millimetres away from his knee. They stay like that for a while, a light tremor of the hardened claw bridging the space between them, the same confusion written all over Kaneki’s face, eyebrows drawn, jaw set.

‘I don’t know.’ Kaneki says in the end, lashes dropping momentarily. ‘But you should probably go now.’

 

Maybe he has been correct, after all.

‘And why would I want to do that?’ Tsukiyama reclines slightly. Kaneki hovers just out of reach, just as always, and he cannot quantify the feverish intent spreading through his body as anything beside temptation.

‘It’s alright, _mon coeur_. Come here.’ He motions, trying to sound as gentle as possible, for Kaneki looks so very tense. Finally there’s a tentative brush of an appendage on his knee, foreign weight settling – simultaneously another tendril reaches out of his forearm. The touch is very light – he marvels at Kaneki’s control over the weapon – yet more pronounced than a settling of a hand, heat seeping in through cloth.

 

Tsukiyama isn’t sure what looks more enticing, the way Kaneki’s rinkaku looks wrapped around his own arm, or Kaneki’s face, lashes lowered, mouth slightly open. There’s a pressure behind his own eyes and he know they’re turning too, involuntary – he has so little control whenever Kaneki’s involved.

‘Good.’ The other breathes, the remaining two claws rising off the ground. ‘It’s not fair if I’m the only one like this.’

The confusion and tension so painfully obvious in Kaneki’s stare before finally dissolve, giving way to hunger? Control? Desire? It’s of no concern to Tsukiyama, not right now, with Kaneki taking another step until he’s positioned between his knees, still staring at him but now he’s looking down.

 

The third strand of the kagune travels through the air, slow and shaky – Tsukiyama can see it quiver. It comes to rest square in the middle of his chest, and it’s almost too much. He’s not sure why something that serves to kill, something so base to their existence as ghouls, something that belonged to _Rize_ once, of all things affects him in this way. His limbs feel heavy. Heat courses through his veins, heats sparks at every point where Kaneki’s kagune moves over him. The blade draws a little line down his chest. If that would have been Kaneki’s intention, it would have went right through, he thinks, crushing bone and flesh in its wake, but the caress is pitifully light.

 He doesn’t realise he’s leaning into the touches, legs shifting open to accumulate more space should Kaneki wish to come even closer. The tendril on his leg rubs against his knee, as if in approval, and Tsukiyama resists the temptation to move into the touch.

 

‘I think,’ he says after a while as the caresses grow heavier, ‘you should, ah – _reverifier_ , _c’il vous plait_.’

Kaneki looks down at this, silver strands falling over his eyes.

‘What does that mean, anyway,’ he speaks into the floor. The flavours of embarrassment in his determination are endearing.    

‘It simply means –’ Tsukiyama stars, but the half-ghoul cuts him off.

‘I know what I’m getting into. I hope.’ He ends, and there’s a slight pull on the kagune, forcing Tsukiyama to sit upright.

‘Is that so.’ He smiles at that, at the innocence of the gesture, at the flush barely staining the other’s cheeks. ‘Who am I to deny the opportunity to put all that precision training to test…’

‘Don’t laugh.’ Kaneki replies, voice light, even though he’s not laughing at the slightest. He brings the kagune up to Tsukiyama’s face, tentative, eager to explore. 

 

The claw cups his cheek, in the same manner a hand would, and he fights to supress a shiver. The texture is strange, softer and dryer than he’s remembered. Deliberately, he makes a show of nuzzling against the appendage, arching his neck, eyes falling shut. It’s the first time Kaneki has been this intimate with him – it’s uncertain where it would go or how long it’ll last, but he’d make the most out of whatever he’s given, really. He lets his eyes fall shut, and the interior of the room fades into darkness, leaving him alone with Kaneki’s kagune reigning over him.

‘Your eyes have turned.’ It’s a statement, not a question, but Tsukiyama opens his eyes again and holds Kaneki’s gaze so he can see for himself.

‘Yet yours isn’t out’ – a pointed tip outlining his shoulder, sliding down until it’s resting on his back, binding the two of them together, and the points of contact between them are scorching. ‘Why is that?’

Tsukiyama does laugh at that, though the sound comes low, awkward. He wants to reach out, to draw the boy closer to him, but there’s always limits with Kaneki, invisible lines, unspoken barriers.

‘There’s certain circumstances,’ – a breath as a heavy warmth traces his jawline, ‘In which this happens, when we’re not hunting or feeding.’

‘Is that so.’ Kaneki mirrors.

‘You’re alright with this, then, yeah?’ – and Tsukiyama isn’t sure whether he’s mocking him, mocking how worked up he’s gotten him with nothing but light petting, or whether it’s this hesitation coming through again. Either way suits him just fine as Kaneki slides into his lap, the weight of the smaller frame settling, hands flying up to clutch at Tsukiyama’s arms, as if to steady himself, even though the kagune should have provided adequate support.

 

 He’s warm and livid, blood flowing so very close, just a layer of cloth and skin off, and he smells so, so good, and if Tsukiyama leant forward a bit he would bury his face at his neck and inhale and drag his tongue and teeth across the skin and…

An appendage traces the line of his jaw, light, teasing, and Tsukiyama leans his head back, relishing in the sensation. The tip of the kagune strokes the dip below his lower lip, before hardening, tugging at his head until he has no choice but to face Kaneki again.

He’s right _there_ , warm and supple and so very assertive in the way he moves over Tsukiyama, so put together with perfect control, but all Tsukiyama can feel is the seams between it all, an openness no one else gets to see.  

He thinks that this could be a good time to act if obtaining Kaneki on the menu was still so desperately sought after. But there’s a longing in the back of his mind that easily outweighs the one to sink his teeth into the boy. A hope that he’s trusted, that this vulnerability of Kaneki’s is gifted to him for reasons other than deadly weapons dancing on the surface of his skin.

It’ a nice hope, just as nice as the sensation of kagune claws dragging up his back, caressing the outsides of this thighs. Kaneki’s letting his hands wander a bit too, stroking down his arms, holding Tsukiyama’s wrists down, in place by his sides. A thumb traces up to the centre of his palm – Kaneki looks down to where their fingers are almost tangled, his face painted with wonder, as if he can’t believe he’s doing this.

 

Tsukiyama can’t blame him. It’s all disbelief mingled with a sickening arousal as the kagune direct him to expose his neck once more, one strand pulsing at his jugular, the other dipping below the collar of his shirt. Tsukiyama cannot supress the soft sound that falls from his lips as the touch slips past his collarbone, making its way down, unfamiliar texture against the sensitive skin of his chest making him shiver, making him squirm into the touch.     

It doesn’t help that the two remaining kagune fragments preoccupied with his lower body have shifted, a ghost of touch up his inner thighs he has no means of escaping – Kaneki’s weight over his lap keeps him grounded. Tsukiyama wonders if the boy can feel how hard he’s gotten him, can tell by the tremors running through him, by how he can’t help but arch under the fleeting touches. His legs tense up, hyperaware of the blade settling in the junction of his hip and lying still, torturous, teasing.

 

Kaneki shifts his attention elsewhere, elongated claws making their way through Tsukiyama’s buttons – a few don’t survive the procedure, and there’s a soft clattering sound as they fly in different directions, but they’re both too gone to care at this point. Kaneki watches as more and more creamy skin is revealed, watches like it’s the most intriguing thing in the world, and the attention he’s given shouldn’t do so much to him, shouldn’t leave him breathless. There’s an out-of-place innocence of the gesture, childlike almost, as Kaneki’s hand joins in with the kagune, fingers tracing over his clavicle.

‘Your technique is quite on point.’ Tsukiyama breathes as the last of his buttons are twisted undone, as a tendril flicks against the outline of his ribs.

Kaneki flushes at that, eyes flickering down for a second before pushing the shirt off the Gourmet’s shoulders, the weight of the kagune snaking up his forearms, over his torso, pressing them closer once more. Kaneki’s hips brush against the straining front of his pants, and the pressure against his clothed member makes Tsukiyama gasp.

‘That’s _good_ ,’ Kaneki says, rocking his hips into him, eyes fluttering shut, hard and restless and pressed up against his bare skin, and Tsukiyama _wants_. 

‘What does that feel like?’ he asks after a while, peeking at him from behind a curtain of silver, and Tsukiyama does laugh at that, breathy, grinding up into the smaller male, pushing back into the kagune gripping his thighs.

‘ _Dolce_ ,’ is the only thing he can manage, and it’s both an answer and a good description of what Kaneki is right now, almost pressed up flush against him and it’s still not enough. He wants to touch him. Wants to give something back in this exchange of control and trust and desire, wants to _be_ more than that.

 

‘ _Mon coeur_ ,’ he tries, reaching out to place his hands over the kagune exploring his body. ‘I know my koukaku doesn’t offer such malleability as yours,’ – a gasp as a tendril passes right over _that_ spot on his back – ‘but perhaps my hands could be of satisfaction?’

‘Don’t say it like that.’ Kaneki retorts, the flush on his cheeks deepening, kagune lowering to the floor again. His hands find Tsukiyama’s wrists once more, but instead of holding the other man down, he gingerly guides them onto his thighs, lowering his own palms over the top.   

This is all the permission Tsukiyama needs.

 

The next moment he’s pushing Kaneki into himself, finger dragging up the boy’s sides, dipping back down to trace his hipbones. Tsukiyama reaches up to nuzzle at his neck, leaving rushed, careless kisses on whatever skin was within reach. The air is filled with stifled moans and gentle sighs and he can no longer take on which ones are Kaneki’s and which ones are his own.

Self-awareness cast aside, he grinds up against Kaneki, relishing in the sparks of pleasure that ignite with every little movement. There’s a foreign hardness against his own, and the knowledge that Kaneki’s getting off to him is exhilarating, the fact that the boy is like this for him and for no one else. Eyes wide open in confusion, kagune barely controlled aside from instinct, despite the devastating force; it all mirrors soft gasps against Tsukiyama’s temple as he pushes himself against his aching cock, movements clumsy and jerky, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with his body.

‘ _Laisse-moi_ ,’ Tsukiyama gasps between kisses, hands shifting to run down the curve of the boy’s back, stopping momentarily to tighten on the base of his kagune before settling over the curve of his ass.

‘Tsu-Tsukiyama-san!’ this earns a gasp that makes Tsukiyama think of Kaneki before all of this has happened, the Kaneki that blushed at his compliments and looked at him in wonder. For a second there’s a predatory urge in him, impossible to ignore as he digs his fingers into the firm flesh, groping, spreading him through the shorts, and he wants to devour.

And then the illusion is gone, and Kaneki’s reacting, Kaneki’s moaning at the friction, clawing at Tsukiyama’s shoulders, and his kagune springs into action once more. The sudden surge of its fragments over Tsukiyama’s body stings, leaving shivers in its wake. The tendrils seem to widen ever so slightly, enveloping him, writhing together behind his back, and being restricted like that makes it even more enticing, letting Kaneki hold his desire in control.

 

He’s not prepared for the white-hot flash that overwhelms him, and for a moment he thinks the kagune did pierce him. It feels like his body’s shutting down, his nerves on fire, fingers clutching at Kaneki hard enough to bruise, the pulse of pleasure going straight to his cock. He cannot bring himself to care though, not with Kaneki’s kagune digging into the spot beneath his shoulderblade, and he’s not sure if the claw punctured the skin, merciless, or whether his kakuhou activated by itself. Kaneki rubs the tip of his rinkaku against the tender flesh and the ruthless intrusion should have hurt, but it’s so, _so_ good and he’s trembling against Kaneki’s form, collapsing in the grip of his kagune. The boy is watching his reaction, pressing his hips against his hardness, eyes hooded, the red so very vibrant in contrast with pale skin, nothing but hunger.

‘Is that good?’ he asks, grinding into him, slow, teasing, and they’re both so hard at this point and this _would_ be so fucking good if not all these damn layers. Kaneki can probably feel the canter of his heart and the way his cock twitches for attention and the way his body can’t stand still, and he’s smiling at that. Smiling as he drives the strand deeper into Tsukiyama.

He must’ve blacked out for a moment, lost in the blinding jolt that overtakes his body, white-hot pleasure overriding restraint.  One second they were balancing on the edge of the couch, his reason swept by an avalanche of Kaneki, his kagune, his scent, and the next there’s a soft, supple body beneath him and he’s hovering over Kaneki on all fours, hips rolling against his thigh, mouth tasting the heat and sweat and sweetness of Kaneki’s skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his chest. The familiar spiral of his koukaku swirls on the edge of his vision, the fragments of Kaneki’s shirt hanging off the blade loosely.

The half-ghoul is laughing, a clear ringing sound interrupted by little moans that set Tsukiyama’s blood aflame. He’s not heard him laugh like that for a long while, and he’s never seen him prostrated like that beneath him, letting him trail kisses up his abdomen, spilling onto his exposed chest, tensing as he scrapes his teeth over a sensitive nipple. This exposure is more precious than any thought to bite down could ever be, Tsukiyama thinks.

‘You appear to be- _Ahh_ , quite sensitive there.’ Kaneki manages, an appendage circling around the base of Tsukiyama’s spiral, where the hardened RC cells met flesh. ‘That was quite a display, Tsukiyama-san.’

‘ _Pardonne-moi_ ,’ Tsukiyama hisses, willing himself to tear away from feeling and tasting the other’s body. He expects displeasure at being thrown to the ground so unceremoniously, or mockery for his poor self-control, but instead there’s a hand in his hair, gentle, fingers massaging his scalp, drawing him closer. The tug is less intense than the pressure of his rinkaku, tendrils sliding over the backs of his legs again, offering support as Tsukiyama struggles for balance.

‘That shirt was already ruined anyway.’ Kaneki says. And reaches upwards to kiss him. 

 

The boy tastes of human, of coffee and of nostalgia for summers long gone. The latter is merely abstract, Tsukiyama thinks, unbefitting, because there never an anchor to his past akin to that feeling. Books spoke of nostalgias, though, and if it tasted like anything, it would certainly taste the way Kaneki did. 

The flavour he’s sought after for this long, but it didn’t do much to sate his hunger, not with Kaneki moaning into his mouth, legs coming up to wrap around his hips. He tears at whatever’s left of the unfortunate article of clothing, fumbling for more contact, hands and mouth and tongue. He almost wishes his own kagune had the dexterity of Kaneki’s, could slither and flow over the unmarked beauty and fragility of Kaneki’s skin, claiming and conquering.

Almost as if the other could read his thoughts, two of Kaneki’s appendages are moving once more, snaking around his, following the curve of the spiral. A perfectly sharpened tip traces the softness of the koukaku’s underside, from the very base to the tip, and Tsukiyama can’t help but fucking _convulse_ at the lazy motion, fingers digging into the waistband of Kaneki’s shorts.

And just like that, the kiss is over. Their kagune remain entwined, and there’s something inexplicably innermost about that, but Tsukiyama draws back just a bit. He shouldn’t lose control again, should let Kaneki set the pace, control the comfort zone, but it’s so difficult when he’s being touched and being allowed to touch like he never has before. When all he wants is more, when he wants Kaneki so damn _much_.

 

‘I didn’t know what this feeling was, what we did with your so called finesse training. Didn’t wanna yield to it’ Kaneki licked his lips, a hand resting on Tsukiyama’s shoulder. ‘What it made me want to feel. It was-’ –he pauses, searching for a suitable word.

‘Confusing?’ Tsukiyama suggests, remembering the rinkaku’s kagune trailing on the ground, eyes wide open.

‘Something like that.’ Kaneki shifts beneath him. ‘Letting someone see me like this. Is this really ok for me to… _Ahh_ …’ He trails off, arching upwards, recovering the space between them.

‘You can take whatever you want from me, _mon ange_.’ Tsukiyama reassures him, leaning down to mouth at his neck again. He’s a bit rougher this time, catching the sensitive skin with his teeth, leaving faint marks at his wake, and Kaneki swears under his breath.

‘Anything at all.’ He repeats, and then Kaneki is pushing him back, guiding both of them upwards so that Tsukiyama is leaning back onto the couch, breathing hard, the half-ghoul settled between his legs once more.

 

‘Come on, _do_ something,’ Kaneki rocks his hips against him, desperate for more contact, and Tsukiyama is more than happy to comply, tearing at clasp of his shorts and this would be a lot easier if his fingers weren’t shaking. Finally, he’s rewarded with the prominence of Kaneki’s cock against his underwear, pressed into the side of his abdomen. There’s a damp spot at the tip that the Gourmet can’t resist but rub his thumb against, and the tremors resonating through his partner’s body are so very rewarding.  

He palms him through his boxers and Kaneki twitches in his hand, throwing his hips up in impatience. When Tsukiyama doesn’t speed up, his kagune takes its own measures, flying up to sweep from waist to knee, cutting through the offending fabric of his shorts and underwear in one swift motion. Tsukiyama is almost alarmed when the sharpened blades point towards him once more, but the treatment he gets is extremely gentle.

Kaneki scrambles to wrench the remnants of his clothes off, and Tsukiyama has never seen him this frantic before, and then there's a naked body writhing in his lap, Kaneki craning his neck to claim his lips in a kiss, and his cock is trailing over the front of his pants, leaving a wet trail on the fabric.

'Tsuki-' his voice falls short, a gasp, and the Gourmet almost comes right there, just from rutting against him, lack of direct contact be damned. But this isn't about him, never was, so he bites his lip  and pays attention to Kaneki instead, his koukaku twisting, straining to reach the tendrils of Kaneki's. He changes the angle of the way his hand slides over Kaneki's member, hot and heavy in his palm, and mimics the motion with one of the rinkaku's claws, earning a surprised mewl from the boy.

 

Abruptly, the appendage tears out of his hand, and up close Tsukiyama can see the crimson veins, cells coursing below the hardened exterior. The kagune hovers in front of his face, ghosting over his lips, before Kaneki emits a quiet sigh and there's a foreign hardness forcing its way into his mouth.

'Let me,' Kaneki drawls out, wanton and decadent and Tsukiyama yields, mouth falling open, accepting, tongue curling around the intruding claw. Kaneki offers many flavours, and this one the Gourmet is delighted to accept, Kaneki’s taste unmistakable and so concentrated on his tongue, and he can’t get enough of it. The texture is rough against his tongue as he laps at the edge, and he can’t help but moan around it in appreciation. This is the height of sensory evolution, this is heaven, but it doesn’t last because Kaneki is pushing _deeper_ , merciless, rough, and Tsukiyama gasps and chokes as the strand hits the back of his throat.

For a moment it recedes and he cranes his neck, following it, only to have the tip slipping past his lips again.  He sucks on it, messy, hungry to draw as much of Kaneki into himself. He’s a mess, saliva dripping from the point where Kaneki drives into him, vision blurred, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, and he’s so eager and way too lost in the decadence of Kaneki fucking his mouth with his kagune to mind.

The boy himself is quiet, save for the laboured breaths, eyes half-lidded, mouth open. Through the cluster of wet eyelashes Tsukiyama can hardly make out his expression, but he feels the intensity of his stare as he watches his kagune working Tsukiyama’s mouth like that – melts under the undiluted want.

‘You won’t speak of this to anyone,’ Kaneki pants, tearing the appendage out of his mouth, leaves Tsukiyama dishevelled and panting, and it’s a statement rather than a request, a warning of sorts. He drags his kagune down his chest, and Tsukiyama watches his own saliva leave a glistening trail on the surface of his skin. His breath hitches when it dips down, curling around where his hand works at Kaneki’s cock, thumb pressed into the underside, and the half-ghoul trembles in his arms, squirming in his lap, and Tsukiyama marvels at his own self-control.

His mouth waters but his throat feels dry, constricted, and Kaneki is nothing but little mewls and groans as he moves further down, when he presses the appendage against his entrance. Tsukiyama has never seen his face this shade of red, eyebrows arched in concentration as he slips his kagune in, bit by bit. It’s a precious sight, but Tsukiyama can’t tear his eyes away from where Kaneki works the tendril inside his body, stretching and teasing, soft thighs quivering, hips jerking at the invasion. His fingers find Tsukiyama’s shoulders, clinging onto him as if the other would dissolve.

The points of contact brand into Tsukiyama’s skin as he watches, helpless, as Kaneki settles his weight fully, the appendage buried inside him, watches the arch of his back and the little ‘o’ of his mouth as he starts moving, and he’s never seen anything so damn erotic. He catches himself rutting against his partner, trying to match the pace of Kaneki’s slightest thrusts, his still-clothed erection throbbing against the thigh bared for him, hooked around his waist to anchor them even closer.   

The stimulation is barely enough, and Tsukiyama’s cock strains and aches in its confines, but he bears through it, immersed in the display in front of him, devouring the boy with his eyes. There’s a second appendage forcing its way into Kaneki’s body, smooth and slick with Kaneki’s precome and the sweat of his hand and something of its own.

‘God, Tsuki…’ Kaneki cries out, grinding down on it, shameless, decadent. His body arches even further, head tossing back. Tsukiyama can see the sharp outline of his ribs stretch the skin, can almost taste the sweat glistening at the definition of his muscles, and it hurts to breathe. He strains, struggles to reach Kaneki, to claim his skin with his lips and tongue once more, to make him feel as good as he’s doing for himself right now.

 

For a moment he thinks he’s made a mistake.

There’s a hand stilling his ministrations on Kaneki’s cock, and the half-ghoul stills in his arms. The kagune withdraws, lashing against the ground, destructive force such a contrast to the pleasure derived from it just seconds ago. But then Kaneki’s hands are tearing at his pants and his mouth is upon his and he swallows every gasp and moan.

 ‘Oh my god, _come on_ , fuck,’ Kaneki curses under his breath, fingers attacking his belt, a hand applying delicious pressure to his neglected cock at the same time, impatient. Tsukiyama lifts his hips, hoping his trousers be the only article of clothing to survive this, but Kaneki doesn’t even bother, pulling down the zipper and working at the waistband of his underwear so it’s just enough.

Tsukiyama keens into his mouth as Kaneki takes him into his hand, fingers hot and shaky. He’d be ashamed at he sounds spilling from his lips but there’s a hand around his throbbing length, finally a satisfaction of sorts, _Kanek_ i’s hand is on _him_ , and he thinks it’s best thing he has ever felt until Kaneki shifts closer. It’s so unlike him to be needy and demanding but there he is, rolling his hips to mirror Tsukiyama’s jerks into his hand, rubbing their cocks together, hand tightening, and Tsukiyama mouthes at is shoulder, leaving a trail of ‘Kaneki, Kaneki, Kaneki!” at his wake.

It doesn’t last long enough, and Tsukiyama pulls back with a groan of frustration when Kaneki’s weight dismisses him. He looks up at him where he’s hovering just of reach, bare skin glistening with sweat, cock wet and flushed against his abdomen, the skin around his hips beginning to darken into bruises that Tsukiyama’s fingers left behind. The lower parts of his kagune keep him grounded, planted on either side of Tsukiyama’s thighs; the upper seek his koukaku once more. He’s never dreams of seeing him like that. He wonders if Kaneki has, is that’s what he imagined the first time their organs tangled together like that, if it’s the thought that kept him so aloof while they sparred.

And then the black crescents of Kaneki’s nails are digging into him hard enough to draw blood, and he’s moaning against his lips and there’s a wet, tight heat around his cock that makes Tsukiyama’s eye roll into the back of his head. Kaneki’s lowering himself onto him, legs trembling, stretching to accommodate him, and once again Tsukiyama’s left with nothing but to feel and watch.

‘Does that feel good?’ he can taste Kaneki’s breath on him, can feel him clench around him as he takes him in to the base. It’s so fucking tight and his chest aches and he cannot breathe properly, Kaneki’s scorching and there’s no room for breathing. He fights the desire to tear the boy apart, to push himself deeper into the welcoming obedient body and claim him as his, his alone.  Kaneki needs to stop lest the desire overcome him - should at least let them adjust, and he’s trying to hold him in place, cock buried inside him but Kaneki clearly has other things in mind.

‘That’s good for me, ah…that’s _so_ good.’ Kaneki licks his lips and Tsukiyama can feel it on his skin. His hips grind down, slow and sinuous, legs spread for Tsukiyama even wider as he starts to move, forceful and unbalanced and Tsukiyama lets him, sits back and takes whatever he’s given. This feeling is almost too much, Kaneki’s riding him so good and he’s drowning in his scent and Kaneki’s name spills from his lips in obscene gasps.

It’s not enough, not for him, not for _Kaneki_ \- the other is whimpering in frustration, kagune contracting around Tsukiyama’s as he struggles to keep the pace, struggles to work himself up and down on his cock. They’re kissing again, but that’s not a very good term for it, for Kaneki’s mouth open for him like that, hot and _inviting_ , offering him full control.

‘Please.’ Kaneki whispers, human eye glassy and unfocused, slumping onto his cock in exasperation. There’s nothing but the sound of skin on skin and the strain of Kaneki’s breath and a voice that hangs in the air like a plea.

‘You said I could take anything I wanted, so – _Aah_ , just…please…‘

And Tsukiyama snaps, lets something more primal take over. If control is what he desires, it’s the least he could give him.

He fucks him, hips snapping back up into the sinful heat of his body, groping and kneading the softness of his ass, fucks him with hard animalistic thrusts until Kaneki’s a writhing shaking mess. His head is thrown back, mouth hanging open, not bothering to keep quiet. If it were under different circumstances, he’d have made love to the boy, slow and tender, limbs tangled in the sheets, gentle kisses – but right then Kaneki has him beyond wishful thinking, beyond restraint or control. Something tells Tsukiyama that’s how he wants it, relentless, to the core, knows by the way Kaneki’s muscles clamp down on him, the delicious tightness and friction driving him closer and closer to the edge, knows by the way the other’s eyelashes flutter, the way he submits to him, lets somebody else take control. Places whatever burden he’s been carrying into his hands, even for a short while, lets someone else be in charge, and Tsukiyama’s trusted with this and the thought spurs him on even more.  

‘ _Mi amore_ ,’ Tsukiyama’s voice is low and guttural and he cannot hear himself over Kaneki’s moans, the little sobs he makes between thrusts. ‘ _Mi coraz_ _ón, mon rasion d’etre_.’ Sweet nonsense whispered into his skin, melting in the unendurable waves of pleasure.

Kaneki started off so fierce, and demanding but now all he can manage is holding himself upright, clinging to the point where his kagune strangles Tsukiyama’s, his body limp as Tsukiyama hammers into him from below, moaning and trembling and fucking wailing in the Gourmet’s arms. It’s sensory overload, so, so much and Tsukiyama still wants more, want to drive deeper into the heat of that body, wants to give and serve and make him whole again and shatter him into pieces until each piece was his and no one else’s and…

‘Aah, oh god, _Shuu_!’ Kaneki cries out, and that’s all it takes for him to come undone. He continues driving himself into the boy as he convulses in the whirlpool of pleasure that claims him, and Kaneki holds him through it, a feeble embrace to keep him grounded.

He pulls out, fluid dripping down his thighs, and Kaneki slumps up against him, looking utterly wrecked. Tsukiyama smears the traces of his own come over his cock, still untouched and weeping for attention, and Kaneki wraps his hand around his wrist, melting into his embrace. He jerks him off with slow, lazy strokes, pressing soft kisses to Kaneki’s temple, behind his ear, wherever he could reach. It’s not long before Kaneki’s unravelling in his arms even more, coming with a quiet sigh, hips jerking into his hand weakly, tension seeping out of his body with every move, every breath that gets caught in his throat.

 

Tsukiyama doesn’t know what face he makes – Kaneki cradles his head into his shoulder when he comes, but as he comes down from his high, member softening, body relaxing, he remains like that, there for Tsukiyama to hold and croon affectionate words to, and that’s precious too.

He waits for the whirlwind of lust and longing to settle, pulse returning back to normal. Breathing becomes a priority once again. A pleasant lightness claims him, (and there’s emotion, too, but it’s probably not the best to ponder on that yet.)

 

Kaneki doesn’t protest, doesn’t even speak as Tsukiyama carries him through the emptiness of the apartment, as he lays him down on the bed, as he works a random cloth over abused skin and the evidence of their momentary passion. His kagune retract as Tsukiyama cleans up the mess, slow, as if reluctant to return back to normal.

 

Kaneki speaks to him then, resting his head in the crook of his elbow, looking at him from under long lashes.

 ‘I don’t think I’ll be in shape enough for tomorrow’s sparring,’

Tsukiyama allows himself to laugh at that, lowering himself down over the covers. His hands find Kaneki’s hair, tentative, and he’s prepared to be rejected, almost expects Kaneki to retaliate after a moment of weakness.  But the other leans into the touch, letting him run his finger

‘I think,’ Tsukiyama’s voice is barely more than a whisper, ‘I think your performance today was _above average_ to say the least. Further training really isn’t that necessary.’

‘Need to get stronger.’ Kaneki frowns at him, burrowing into the sheets. ‘Need to…’

‘We can practice some other time, _je suppose_ , tomorrow or the day after…’

Kaneki seems content at that, shoulders stilling, curling into him, and there’s a risk Tsukiyama decides to take.

‘Maybe we could something else too, you know, _ensemble_? If you were to like that, of course…’

When Tsukiyama is very careful to place an arm around the half-ghoul’s waist, Kaneki doesn’t pull away from the embrace.

 

‘Perhaps.’ He replies, and his voice dissolves in the comfort of silence.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always welcome! Come say hi on http://prismatic0re.tumblr.com if you want (:


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